Strangers. Rob Taylor
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Название: Strangers

Автор: Rob Taylor

Издательство: Ingram

Жанр: Зарубежные стихи

Серия:

isbn: 9781771964203

isbn:

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      to write by. A lamp I know I should switch on.

      Soda crackers. Hot water with lemon. Dishes in the sink,

      few enough I can put them off a while. In the afternoon

      I’ll call my mother and we’ll talk about nothing,

      the weather. I’ll ask if it’s raining there and she’ll say yes.

      We’ll share some news about family or football,

      and maybe reminisce a bit: my childhood, my father,

      her life before us both. But mostly the rain,

      which will lighten and finally stop around dinner

      while my wife and I are filling the house with our talk

      so we will not notice the change until hours later,

      sitting in bed. One of us will lower their book

      and mention it in passing. Or maybe

      it will still be raining then, so we’ll say nothing

      and in the morning we won’t be certain

      if it ever stopped, or when it did

      and when it started up again.

      Love, fidelity, etc.

      I do not wear you

      when I shower, when I sleep,

      when playing sports or making things,

      my knuckles thick in dirt or grease,

      though I wear you now on the hand

      behind my head, which tilts it to the page.

      Remember when I lost you

      those six months beneath the driver’s seat?

      You must have hidden in my pocket—

      the one inside the other—

      and when I wriggled out the keys

      you ventured too.

      Folks think you represent

      but we both know you’re

      up there in the darkness of my hair

      or, one time, waiting in the car.

      When I rediscovered you

      we were both prodigals’ fathers

      grieving our sons,

      though it was my hand, of course,

      reached out in welcome,

      my mouth that rushed the story to my wife.

      Yes, you arrived with my marriage.

      You’ll go at the end, off to some necklace or pouch

      or you’ll linger years in the earth

      until all you encircle is earth

      and a scavenger prospects you up,

      as I did, from the muck.

      It wasn’t much. I was in the field.

      I knelt. My hands were bare.

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